


What About

by CoarseSugar



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-09 22:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18926041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoarseSugar/pseuds/CoarseSugar
Summary: Matthijs de Ligt and Daley Blind try to console each other and build up a defense together against the smothering despair after Ajax's loss in the Champion's League semi-final and ahead of farewells for the summer and beyond.





	What About

**Author's Note:**

> Started writing this after the Ajax-Tottenham match, as a way to try to start to get on a journey to heal myself. It still pains me to even finish typing the other team's name, so I guess I may not have been that successful after all. 
> 
> Warning: This fic is a mess in so many ways, and utterly self-indulging (the ridiculous halfway switch between Chinese and English barely scratching the surface - hooray for Google Translate?). Parallel Universe. OOC characters. Unbeta'd. Please consume at your discretion.

没有人有过多的言语，更没有平时常见的肢体接触，在一片窒息的沉默中，陆续有人离开了更衣室。

德利赫特外套拉锁都拉好之后，一回头，发现布林德还是纹丝未动地坐在那里。

他一个人霸占了三条毛巾，胯上围着一条，上身披着一条，低垂的脑袋上还搭着一条。

眼前的人像极了阿姆斯特丹街头的铜像，而那三条毛巾则是不知哪位热心市民为铜像裹上的衣服似的。

荷兰人民总是有着无穷无尽的好心和热情。

就像今晚约翰克鲁伊夫球场的每一位阿贾克斯球迷。

操。

德利赫特狠狠撸了一把头发。近乎崩溃地发现他的那些发散的思绪、甚至是不合时宜的想象，只要稍一松懈，最终都逃不过回归到刚刚结束的这一晚。

其实不算结束，毕竟时间只是刚刚入夜。

但的确也是结束了。

都结束了。

比赛，征途，梦想。

还有很多说不出来的东西。

德利赫特找不到合适的词汇来形容他现在的心情，脑子里心里都是一片空空荡荡，敲一敲或许还能听到悲鸣般的回声。

他近乎强硬地将这些想法一股脑地赶出去，眼神又一次落在布林德的身上。

他还是一动不动地坐着。

费尔特曼挎好了包，握住布林德的肩膀捏了捏，低下头听不清说了些什么，又起身退开了。他有些迷茫地站在更衣室中间，看看大门，又回头看看布林德。犹豫了许久，最后还是长长地叹了一口气，走向门口。

与德利赫特擦身而过的时候，两人的目光短暂地相遇。德利赫特突然理解了对方为何不想离开这沉闷的、充满了汗味和绝望的屋子——如果不转身是不是就能当作还没有结束，就还可以再欺骗自己，哪怕只是一分钟，不必面对。

费尔特曼先移开了眼神，他抬了抬下巴，朝着布林德的方向。

任谁都知道，这个动作的意味是什么。

德利赫特突然手足无措起来。

更衣室里的人又少了几个。

德容走过来，虚虚地抱了他一把。与其说是抱，不如说是轻拍他的手臂和后背而已。

在这样的夜晚之后，他们都没有力气，也没有立场，去拥抱任何队友了。

『去劝劝他吧，』德容在他耳畔留下这样的建议。『我相信你。』

究竟德容相信他什么呢？德利赫特想不明白，可他还是迈着与绿茵场上截然相反的小碎步挪到了布林德面前。更衣室里还剩下的其他人默契地将眼神避开这个角落。

德利赫特迟疑着。如果换个轻松点的时刻，他的手指可能此刻已经绞成一团，但他现在难过地没有多余精力来紧张。

故而只剩下踌躇。

在大概踌躇了半个世纪之后，德利赫特决定破罐破摔。

他深吸了一口气，蹲了下来。

因为动作过猛，还差点一屁股坐在地上。

赶紧用手掌撑住自己，调整成单膝跪地的姿势，甚至还有心思在脑子里吐槽，又不是在求婚什么的。

地砖冰凉的温度和湿意透过运动裤的布料传达到皮肤。

『Daley。』

没有反应。

『Daley。』

提高了音量又试了一次。

像慢动作一样，布林德一点点抬起眼来。

没有泪痕，只有红通通的眼眶和布满血丝的眼珠。

他看起来像是至少十多分钟没有眨眼了，德利赫特胡乱猜测，下意识绷紧了全身的肌肉。

『Daley。』

他又重复了一次，一半是因为不知道还能说什么，另一半是因为这短短的两个音节蕴涵了他所想表达的一切。

布林德嘴唇之间留有狭小的缝隙，像从池塘里捞出来、暴露在空气里的缺水的鱼，等待着被摔到砧板上开膛破肚。

德利赫特甚至有冲动就地给他做个人工呼吸。

在他发愣的功夫，一只毛乎乎的手伸过来，迅速在布林德头上揉了揉，又迅速地抽走了。

『Wake up。』舍内丢下一句没头没脑的话，径直穿过了更衣室。

布林德头上的毛巾滑稽地顺着脖子掉了大半，只剩下一个角还落在额头上。金棕色的卷发乱七八糟地支楞着，看起来一副很需要、也很期待被打理的模样。

德利赫特并没有伸出手去。

又僵持了几秒，布林德的眼睛里终于渐渐清亮起来。他从包里拿出干净的训练服，动作利落地依次扯下了身上的三条毛巾。

德利赫特背过身去，将无意识屏住的呼吸分成几节，缓缓吐了出来。

 

\-----

 

城市的夜晚并不算十分宁静，布林德双手握着方向盘，时不时地听到各种杂音从留着缝隙的侧窗和半开的天窗中传来。

摩托车发动机和排气管改装后的轰鸣，自行车上三五成群好友们的嬉耍笑闹，旁边车轮加速行驶时碾压地面的摩擦声。

只有身旁的人已经很久没有发出过声音了。

布林德在下一个红灯的时候，瞥了瞥副驾驶上的人。

在他的印象中德利赫特极少如此消沉，他总是有着乐观、积极、和超脱年龄的成熟。

只是这次的打击真的太大了，连自己都完全吃不消，更何况严格来说还算是青少年的自己的搭档。

脑内的影像回到约翰克鲁伊夫球场，对手的最后一个进球自动播放，循环、超慢动作、特写，一遍又一遍。

他们明明都撑到最后几十秒了。

距离梦想那么、那么近了。

伸出手去都能触碰到马德里的绿草晴空了。

却硬生生看着时空的裂缝在眼前闭合，把所有的可能性永远留在了另一个平行世界里。

那一瞬间的绝望在神经网中迸裂，经验告诉布林德那是这辈子再也冲刷不掉的压印。

他并不苛责自己或任何其他人今晚的表现，赛前他甚至想过就算大比分输掉比赛也不意外，可永远也预料不到的是这天堂地狱的剧本。

就像写故事的人恶意的玩笑。

信号灯转绿，车子又重新行驶在公路上。

布林德将车速控制在平稳、甚至是平缓的区间。

他并不急着到达目的地，就像他放任自己在赛后的更衣室里彻底放空。

失去了时间的追逐和催促，即便是失败后的绝望，也充满了纱一般的不真实感。他想要沉溺在两个世界的夹缝中，虽然再看不到那边的欢笑与希望，但也还不必真正面对这里的苦涩。

在疲累的真空中，放开一切，把这片刻延缓再拉长。

顺着窗子吹进来的晚风不急不徐。

他们已经在不觉中远离了市区。城郊的夜更加安静一些，信号灯也更为稀疏。布林德终于可以分出来多余的精力持续地注意沉默的德利赫特。

稍早一些离开更衣室的时候，年轻人亦步亦趋地跟在他身后，保持着一臂多的距离。

布林德知道他在担心自己，因为他也同样在担心对方。

德利赫特一直跟着他走到车位，最后在后备箱的位置停了下来。

他什么都没有说，只有眼睛在街灯昏暗的灯光下还闪烁着。

布林德想要给他一个拥抱，可他刚迈出向前的半步，德利赫特就像触电一般侧身让开了。于是布林德不得不退回原地。

两人位置的变化地扭曲了摇曳的阴影，形成新的奇妙的平衡——一个暗灰色轮廓的外套被风吹起，而另一个更高一些的则正好踩在他的肩头。

呼吸微不可查地凝滞，而后颤抖着汇入风里。

德利赫特像温驯的大型犬类等着主人的号令，而布林德说不出拒绝的音节。

过去的两个小时，他们已经收割了足够多的绝望，他怎么可能忍心再将人推开。

布林德冲着德利赫特的训练包肩带伸出手，打开后备箱将两人份的装备卸下，德利赫特则迅速钻进副驾驶，『砰』地一声关上了车门。

一路无话。

过了前面的拐弯后一路开到底就到了，布林德长出一口气，说不清究竟是期待着抵达之后彻底放松，还是期待着这条公路再长一些。

德利赫特的身子从正视前方一点点扭向侧面的窗户，这会儿 几乎快要背对着布林德了。他在训练中和赛场上总是挺直的脊背也微蜷着，那弧度愣是让布林德看出几分委屈来。

他们都太累了。

赛季初的时候，没有人能想到这样一支来自没落的荷甲的队伍，竟然能在欧洲冠军的征途中再三斩落顶尖豪门，跌跌撞撞地走了这么远。

而正因为这样，几小时前的失利才尤为痛苦。

布林德的右手放开了方向盘，落在德利赫特的腿上。

一阵微小的颤抖之后，对方放松了紧绷的身体。

木屋的轮廓出现在挡风玻璃另一侧。

布林德没有带德利赫特回家，而是来到了郊外的度假屋。德利赫特在此之前也来过几回，跟着其他的队友和伙伴，最早的一次好像还是教练组搞的青训和成年队混合的夏日派对。

发动机熄灭之后，只剩下远处零星的鸟叫。

『来吧。』

 

\-----

 

德利赫特靠在厨房流理台的角落，看着布林德有条不紊地煮水、泡茶、倒酒，还从冰箱里翻出来了冷冻的莓果和柠檬。

木屋楼梯后侧的洗衣机嗡嗡地转动起来，里面他们两个人汗湿的训练服正在合着泡沫搅动。

德利赫特忽然想念起刚刚在车上布林德的手掌的温度。

所以他们这样算是互相照顾了吗？从刚刚到现在。

眼前专注的身影令德利赫特无法这样认为。

他总觉得布林德在单方面地照顾他，也不知道究竟是出于主人对客人的义务，还是年长者对年轻人的习惯。又或许他们之间在经历过这样一场绝望的失败之后，滋生出了某种同病相怜。

翻找白兰地的时候，布林德弯着腰挪到德利赫特的旁边，而后者似乎还在神游，布林德不得不拍开他的腿才能打开酒柜的矮门。

反应慢了的德利赫特右脚绊左脚，差点失去重心栽到一边。

还好布林德及时扶住了他。

身体之间的距离突然缩短到相当亲密的程度。

布林德挑挑眉，瞄了一眼比他高上小半头的德利赫特。

『世界级的后卫，』他摇着头低喃，『各大豪门争抢的防守新星。』

『喂！』

布林德毫不在意对方象征性的抗议，径直蹲下去找到了他想要的玻璃瓶。

桌面上挨着摆了两个马克杯，布林德往每一杯里都倒了些白兰地。倒好之后，他停顿了一下，往其中一杯里又加了点。

德利赫特趁着他在拧瓶盖的空隙，把加多的那个杯子抓在了手里。

回应他的是一个轻描淡写的白眼。

布林德捧着另一杯饮料，自顾自地窝进了沙发。

德利赫特在三人和单人沙发中犹豫了一会儿，还是在布林德旁边坐了下来。

年长的搭档踹掉了拖鞋，只穿着袜子才在垫子上，两只膝盖抵住胸口，抱着那杯茶不茶酒不酒的特饮慢慢啜着。

德利赫特很少见到如此居家的布林德，一时间也不知道该做何反应。他很想多观察他一会儿，又怕这样实在太失礼。

他灌了一口暗红色的液体，意外地被温和又温暖的水果香气包裹在内。

没一会儿半杯就下了肚。精神放松些之后疲劳感一下子涌上来，再加上酒精的作用，德利赫特也不再那么拘谨。

他转过身子找了个舒服的姿势面对布林德，小臂撑在脑袋和沙发靠背之间，左腿半盘着，脚踝压在右腿的膝窝里。

布林德眨了眨眼。

『还好这是在荷兰，』一张嘴才发现一晚上没发声的喉咙有多哑，德利赫特咳了两下。

布林德还是看着他。

『如果是在美国的话，我还不能喝这个呢。』

『啊。』

『嗯？』

『几岁？』

『二十一，法定年龄。』

德利赫特还有心思腾出精力暗自自夸，连对方没头没尾的问话，他都能洞悉其中的意思，大概这就是搭档的默契吧。

然而刚刚比赛的时候……

不行。

眼见着气氛好不容易变得不再那么沉重，德利赫特一个急刹车，把几乎成型的思绪紧急切断。

布林德则将他的各种小表情尽收眼底。

『要是在美国的话，你肯定是职业大联盟的。』他也哑得不像话，但他无视了自己砂纸一样的嗓音，『美式足球，不用脚的足球。』

『你确定？』

『什么？』

『我就那么像那群垫肩比屁股还大的球员吗？』

布林德差点被温酒呛住，『……你是不是对你自己的体格有什么错误的认识。』

『什么意思？』

『你就算不加垫肩也很像打橄榄球的。』

德利赫特眯起眼睛。

半晌，他撅了撅嘴，『果然连你都嫌弃我的体重。』

『没有，』布林德倒是一拍不落地回答，『你现在控制的很好了，真的。前两年你刚升一队的时候，我还的确担心过好一阵子。』

『哼，就像你真的关注过似的，』年轻人小声质疑。

『我的确关注过，』布林德点头，『我爸也跟我说，你当年吃了不少苦头。』

这下德利赫特反倒不知道该说什么了。每当布林德无意识提起两人年龄的差距时，德利赫特都不知道该如何应答。

布林德把他的沉默当成了自己的作为前辈而开导的职责。

『很好了，你，阿贾克斯的队长。这个赛季你的表现和成长大家都看得到，』布林德顿了一会儿，像是在下定决心。他深吸了一口气，还换了个姿势，把蜷缩的腿顺着坐垫边缘垂下去，『也包括今晚。』

不出意料，德利赫特猛地绷紧了腹肌，像挨揍似的。他一口气卡在嗓子眼，五官痛苦地绞在一起，止不住连连摇头。

终于还是到了这个时刻，德利赫特想，必须撕开纱布、直面那血肉翻飞的丑陋的伤口的时刻。

布林德见状，接过对方见底的马克杯，把它和自己的并排放在一旁的小桌上，转回来抓住德利赫特的双肩。

『听我说，Matthijs。虽然真的很痛苦，虽然我也不知道什么时候才能恢复过来，虽然这么好的机会我甚至不知道还会不会再有，』他咬紧牙齿，『但你必须要知道，你做得很好了，我们大家都是。』

年轻人还是低垂着脖子，不肯抬起头来。

『我为我们的队伍骄傲。』

布林德托起对方的颈侧和下颚，用温和的力道让他与自己对视。虽然声音里还带着可疑的哽咽，但这不妨碍他做出最郑重的告解。

『我爱这支阿贾克斯，我爱你们每一个人。』

目光交汇，不远处的落地灯给布林德笼上一圈暖色，德利赫特从他眼里看得到闪亮的蕴氲，以及那背后的异常坚定的光。

他探过身，把脸埋进了布林德的肩膀。

布林德的胡子蹭着德利赫特的侧脸和耳朵，又疼又痒。

触觉的反馈充满了令人安心的真实感。

他蹭了蹭，又把脸埋得更深了些。

布林德叹了口气，拍拍德利赫特搂着他的手臂。

见对方没有放开的意图，他只好把手掌落在年轻人的后脑柔软的短发，胡乱揉过一通。

『你说你可怎么办。』

『嗯？』

嘴唇蹭着皮肤，脸也挤压变形，发出的声音闷闷的，不清不楚。

『马上就要夏天了。』

『那又怎么样……』

『你怎么还跟个小孩似的。』

听到关键的单词，德利赫特猛地放开了布林德，紧紧盯着他的眼睛。

『Daley。』

『干什么？』

布林德被他突如其来的动作搞得不明就里。

『Daley，我不走了好不好。我不走了。留下来。这个夏天，我们再一起踢附加赛，一起进欧冠。』德利赫特不间断地一口气说完，他下意识地觉得自己哪怕有一点点磕巴，都会被布林德打断。

『呃……』

『这里是阿贾克斯，是家。我的，更是你的。所以只要有你和我都在，就够了。我们可以一直穿着红白色的上衣，再闯进欧冠厮杀一回。』

『Matthijs，』布林德摇头。

『我不走了……』

布林德无奈地皱起眉头，照着脑门毫不留情地拍了德利赫特一巴掌。

『瞎说什么。』

『……我没有，』年轻人委屈地揉着头，辩解的音量越来越小。

『你明明知道这不可能。』

『但这不妨碍我表达心里的愿望！』

德利赫特干脆借力使力，来了个胡搅蛮缠。

果然年轻就是有各种各样的资本，布林德暗自感叹。

『行啦，知道你想留在这儿，』布林德软化了口气，『但是我也希望你出去闯一闯，以你的潜质，值得更好的平台去锻炼。』

『你真不愧是他们嘴里的阿贾克斯的王子，连私下说话都这么官方。』

布林德被他噎得一愣。

『那你要听我说什么？“我会想你的”……这种吗？』

德利赫特抱着手臂靠在沙发上，一脸莫名其妙的不爽。

见他没有回应，布林德转身拿过自己的马克杯，把剩下的已经微凉的茶酒一饮而尽。

『所以呢，你就老老实实回家，等着几周后被哪个豪门领走吧。』

『你会吗？』

正在收拾小桌上空杯子和杯垫的手顿了顿。

『阿贾克斯有我在。』

几乎完全背对着他的布林德似乎并无意接过话茬。

于是年轻人固执地又问了一遍。

『你会想我吗？』

布林德握着两只马克杯的杯柄，拽了拽T恤下摆直起身来。

身后传来一阵短促的窸窸嗦嗦的声音。

然后布林德就被扑回了沙发里。

其实德利赫特本来只是想拉住布林德，结果不知道脑子里那根筋突然跑偏，一猛子就扑了过去。

两只杯子落在地毯上，发出『咚咚』的闷响。

还好喝完了，布林德松了口气，不然还要找人来洗地毯，很麻烦的。

他叹了口气，在德利赫特手臂间圈出来的狭小空隙艰难地转过身来。

两个人面对面距离不超过二十厘米，连呼吸都汇聚一处。

布林德抿了抿嘴唇。

德利赫特则紧张地咽了一口口水。

『你……』

他发出第一个音节。

对方的眼睛一眨不眨地紧盯着他。

『……果然还是更适合去打橄榄球吧。』

德利赫特的脸上瞬间闪过赤橙黄绿青蓝紫的颜色，最后定格在某种气到瞪眼的不可思议的表情上。

布林德则是一副神清气爽。

『……』

在这个令人绝望的夜晚，看着对方眼底的笑意第一次传递到嘴角，德利赫特终于松了口气，找到了慢慢缝补上心口那块巨大的窟窿的希望。

但他似乎又一次被当成了小孩子。

真是不甘心啊，他一边忿忿地咬牙切齿，一边吸了吸鼻子。

『气哭了吗？』

『谁哭了！』

『对不起。』

『闭嘴！』

德利赫特依然居高临下地看着布林德。

他觉得自己如果不做点什么报复一下，以后回忆起来一定会肠子都悔青的。

于是他磨了磨牙，朝着布林德的嘴唇就咬了下去。

……

意料之外地没有遇到多少反抗，对方只是僵持了几秒，之后迅速投入到了亲吻之中，甚至连舌头都是布林德先伸出来的。

在没有打断这个吻的状况下，德利赫特手脚并用地爬上了沙发。

等到两人亲完一轮分开，德利赫特的脑袋还是晕晕乎乎的。

布林德的手搂着他的后颈，脚腕搭在他的小腿上。

明明是带着各种邀请、甚至是色情的意味的姿势，却被他处理得稀松平常。

只是仰起的脸染上一点淡红色的影子，嘴唇被亲的略微肿起来，泛着水光。

鬼使神差地，德利赫特探出舌尖，沿着布林德的下唇轻轻舔了一道。

在他正要起身的时候，对方的手臂使上了力气。

『小小年纪，谁教你的这些，』他们的鼻尖几乎要蹭到一起。

春末的夜晚的一丝凉意，被两人温热的呼吸所掩盖。

 

\-----

 

De Ligt didn’t dignify with any response. He simply peered down into Blind’s eyes, silently confirming the intention to continue. He so wanted to prove to Blind what he’s capable of, just like when he came back home last summer, when they got paired up as the last line of defense before the Ajax goal.

Blind reached forward and put his forehead on De Ligt’s.

“You’re not supposed to hit pause right now, you know,” he muttered, a hoarse whisper.

De Ligt hesitated for another second.

“Not after we’ve just kissed like that.”

The younger man let out a loud exhale. This was the invitation he didn’t need, didn’t think he’d get.

He finally closed the gap between them, once again, lips on wet lips. His clean-shaven jaw growing red where it met Blind’s stubbles. Every curve of their bodies were pressed up against each other, muscles contracting and loosening to the rhythm of their quickened breathing, trying to fit together better than the previous second.

It’s almost a dance, like their partnership out there on the field.

De Ligt groaned into the kiss when Blind raised his hips, not quite arching his back, but clearly asking for friction. He wedged his thigh in between Blind’s, those quad muscles that he’s so proud of doing their work rubbing against his groin.

They were both hard already.

Too much fabric restricted their movements, so training t-shirts went flying past the couch, landing in front of the empty fireplace. De Ligt was going to take his time covering ground, but Blind was already loosening the strings of his sweatpants with surprisingly steady fingers. 

It wasn’t like they hadn’t already seen each other naked for a million times before, playing for the both the national team and now the same club for nearly a year. Although for the next few days, or at least for tomorrow, it might be a little weird in the locker room if they actually managed to go all the way to the end tonight. 

Despite the whiskers of worry, De Ligt jumped in to assist, kicking off his own sweatpants and tugging off Blind’s too, along with their socks.

Now, there was truly only the last line of defense left.

Blind blinked, slowly pulling his legs up to hug De Ligt’s ass, and drawing him into another round of kissing. Somehow, he’d managed to make it both more tender and more erotic as the same time. 

The warmth of skin on skin made them sigh into each other’s mouth.

De Ligt reluctantly ended the kiss in order to taste Blind’s neck and chest and stomach, making his way down to the only piece of fabric between them. He looked up and saw the Blind’s neck arched back, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down under the furry stubbles.

In that moment, everything seemed surreal, almost other-worldly. The gut-wrenching loss earlier tonight, and this… whatever this is, that it somehow led to. 

And this version of Daley Blind, the same person who is always so appropriate, so becoming, the prince of Ajax, now in front of De Ligt, under him, writhing for his, HIS touches, kisses and maybe more.

De Ligt felt his own hard-on pulse against his belly.

He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to engulf the head of Blind’s cock, still under the restraint of the elastic and cotton fabric. De Ligt sucked gently, and dragged his tongue up and down the shaft, leaving a general wet mess all over Blind’s underwear. He could hear the older man swear under his breath, and it made him feel accomplished.

Until Blind reached down into his hair and pulled him back, a little too forcefully. 

They both sat up, Blind still gripping De Ligt’s hair.

“Give me a minute,” he croaked, before widening the space between their bodies and motioning to stand up. 

But then he tilted back and left a quick peck on the corner of De Ligt’s mouth, as if to comfort.

Blind hurried down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

De Ligt heard the faint rustling of drawers from the bathroom and waited, his mind a little cooler yet even cloudier somehow. His underwear was growing incredibly tight and he really didn’t want to do much about that before Blind returned. 

He put a hot palm over the bulge in his underwear and gently pressed down, letting out a shaky breath. The pressure felt good, but it sure would feel a lot better with Blind in front of him, when he finally came back from whatever the hell he was doing.

Behind half-closed lids, De Ligt was pretty sure a minute had already passed.

“Of course you couldn’t even wait,” came the husky voice.

De Ligt’s eyes snapped open to a completely naked Blind. He gawked, rather impolitely. 

Then something caught his eye, a silvery reflection in the dim backlights of the living room, along Blind’s left inner thigh. It was a watery streak. 

De Ligt didn’t need any more hints.

The tent between his legs became borderline painful. De Ligt finally reached over to peel it off, and Blind’s hand was right on top of his, wrapping around his exposed shaft.

The younger man had to bite his lips very hard, so as not to make the moaning too embarrassing.

Then Blind was on him, pushing him back against the couch, and spreading his own knees wide so he could sit in De Ligt’s lap. De Ligt collected their lengths in his right hand and closed his fingers around them.

They kissed while De Ligt pumped them in unison, as if joined at the hips, literally, and fused into one. 

Blind dropped a small packet onto the cushion, before swinging his arms around De Ligt’s neck.

In between deep kisses and short breaths, he made the request.

“What?” De Ligt muttered.

“You know what to do.”

“Daley.”

“Come on.”

There was a darkness in Blind’s eyes, lurking behind the lust and desire. And it worried De Ligt.

He pushed back against Daley’s abs, and put a hand under his ass. Finding the angle, he slowly inserted a finger into the lube covered mess. 

He was met with a small flinch halfway through adding the second finger.

Too tight.

He whispered into Blind’s ear, trying to make him relax, but either his overly tense muscles or his overly tense mind refused to budge.

This was going to be impossible.

“Just go on,” Blind ignored the pain, urging impatiently.

De Ligt shook his head.

Blind shot him a blank stare.

De Ligt shook his head some more, “no.”

“I’ll be fine,” Blind raised his voice, “not some china doll.”

“I said no,” De Ligt replied, even louder.

“Why the fuck not!”

There was an intense silence for about five seconds.

During which it slowly dawned on De Ligt precisely what Blind was asking for, in those determined, nearly indignant eyes, and hasty gestures.

And never had he been so glad of a full season’s practice to read his partner.

He picked Blind up in his arms and laid him on his back on the couch once more, though this time against noticeable struggles. De Ligt had to use his entire bodyweight to pin Blind down into the cushions.

“Because I’m not about to force both of us into it.”

The response from Blind was another round of shoving and writhing under De Ligt.

He was acutely aware of both the mental tug of war here, as well as the fire spreading between their naked bodies, enflamed by the physical battling.

Letting out a low growl, De Ligt plunged down and captured Blind’s lips in a forceful kiss, all teeth and power and drawing blood.

When he pulled away, it looked like he was about to say something, but then he held his tongue. Instead, he swiftly slid down Blind’s body.

Blind swore some more as De Ligt’s mouth engulfed first the head of his cock, then further down the shaft, taking in as much as he can for a first try, with his hand gripping the rest. 

He couldn’t help but grab onto De Ligt’s short blond hair when his tongue swirled against the sensitive tip, licking up the pre-cum from his slit.

In that moment, they both knew who had won the war, and who lost.

Blind buried his face in the crooks of his other arm, while De Ligt sucked hard on his balls and perineum. 

Encouraged by the reception, De Ligt tentatively slid a finger back into Blind, and curved around in search for the right spot. He knew he’d succeeded when Blind suddenly moaned into the curse, a noise that De Ligt decided to store into the depth of his mind.

He then added a second finger, stretching the muscles while continuing with the blowjob.

The pressure, from both the front and the back, was becoming a little dizzying. Blind didn’t even want to picture what the scene must look like down there. 

Everything felt hot and wet, and De Ligt was so, so good – he definitely couldn’t recall that the younger man was only one year and change into proper adulthood.

De Ligt could feel Blind inching closer to the finish in the way his muscles tensed, and he pulled back the fingers pressing on his prostate to wrap around his own hard and neglected cock. 

“Mat-, Matthijs.”

He kept going, mouth and tongue moving faster, trying to bring his partner over the edge. Until Blind had to push him away with both hands and knees. 

De Ligt immediately replaced his mouth with his hand, calluses rubbing against the sensitive foreskin.

A few more pumps and Blind came with a broken cry.

Ignoring the wet streaks on Blind’s stomach, De Ligt climbed back on top of him, drawing him into a long kiss, with those red and swollen lips from the blowjob he’d just given him, while squeezing and stroking his own cock.

He knew he wasn’t going to last long, not after what he’d just witnessed and partaken in. And for the first, yet possibly the last time in his life.

There was a sense of hopelessness and desperation that made the act at hand seem even more poignant.

De Ligt bit down on Blind’s collarbone as he came.

 

\-----

 

Afterwards, they lied there, silent except for the panting. Blind’s arms were unconsciously wrapped around De Ligt’s lower back, resting just above his bare hips.

De Ligt nestled his face in Blind’s neck, his eyes half-open, trying to look, and look, and remember everything in sight.

The same sinking feeling returned and stirred in his guts, just like the last seconds of the game earlier tonight, though seemingly more manageable because it was much less overwhelming. But De Ligt knew that wasn’t true. He couldn’t really cope with either.

His gaze fell on the mark at the bottom of Blind’s neck. Bruise, not hickey, De Ligt emphasized in his head, as the latter implied true love-making. And this certainly wasn’t it, despite his refusal to Blind’s request, which obviously would’ve made it even less about love. All Blind wanted was to drown out one pain with another.

“I’m sorry.”

Blind slowly tilted his head toward the sound. He was too close to De Ligt’s face to properly focus his gaze, so instead his vision rested on a fold on the back of couch.

“You can’t sleep here…” he muttered absent-mindedly.

The words hit De Ligt worse than he’d thought. Even though he was expecting some sort of similar gesture, it still hit hard, probably because of how soon it had come.

He took a deep inhale and sat up, swinging his legs over Blind’s body and reaching for the tissue box.

Blind was finally able to properly look at him now because of the distance, but the younger man’s features were hidden in the shadows.

Something was off. Blind’s brain churned painfully slowly.

“Wait,” he grabbed De Ligt’s wrist as he wiped them both clean.

“Hm?”

“No. I meant, you, um, I, we can’t sleep here,” words had trouble forming themselves into coherent sentences, “literally, here, on the couch.”

De Ligt’s shoulders relaxed visibly.

“Jesus,” Blind breathed. He wanted to smack De Ligt in the head again, but he was too tired to reach all the way up. 

“What?”

“Wasn’t going to kick you out.”

“Right.”

“You don’t even have your car here, damn it.”

“And that the critical factor in your decision?” De Ligt cracked a small smile.

Blind rolled his eyes.

“I’m too tired to move,” he groaned as De Ligt finally dragged him to his feet.

“I can always carry you,” the younger one suggested, “rugby player and all, right?”

“No thanks,” Blind rubbed his face. He felt the urge to do something more, right then and there, with De Ligt, though he didn’t know what. He inhaled deeply, and squashed it down.

“Shower?”

“Nope. Too tired. I don’t even want to climb the stairs.”

De Ligt stared after Blind as he led the way to the guestroom on the ground floor, tucked toward the back of the house. He was still naked, and apparently had no intention to get dressed, not even pajamas. De Ligt had to quickly grab their shirts and pants scattered all around the couch, before he could follow Blind into the room. He dumped everything all in a small pile at the foot of the bed.

“Bathroom is around the corner if you want to shower,” Blind sighed as he climbed under the blankets with his eyes already closed, “just don’t wake me when you come back.”

De Ligt placed a good night kiss onto Blind’s cheek in his mind’s eye.

“It can wait,” he climbed into bed after Blind, lying on his back on the other side of the mattress.

“Hmm…” Blind acknowledged through a low hum.

De Ligt reached towards the moonlit ceilings, stretching his heavy arms, as waves of fatigue washed over him. A lot had happened tonight, he thought, too much, and most of it painful and unpleasant.

Then Blind unconsciously wriggled his body closer to De Ligt’s, as if in search for a bit more warmth on a chilly night.

And De Ligt felt somehow at ease, through the pain.

At least he had this, even if only for a few more hours.

 

\------

 

Blind woke up as sunlight filled the room.

He inhaled silently and motionlessly, and blinked twice, three-times, until the memories flooded back into his fuzzy brain.

The anticipation, the excitement, the joy. And then the loss, the despair, and everything after.

Blind exhaled, with a tonne of stones in the pit of his stomach.

Then he inhaled again, registering the arms around his chest and the steady breathing of another body against his own.

He realized De Ligt’s morning wood was poking at his ass because they were both completely naked.

It made him want to laugh, immature and very un-adult-like.

He couldn’t though. He didn’t want to wake the younger man still carefree in slumber.

Blind slowly untangled himself from De Ligt’s embrace, pausing along the way to minimize the disruption.

He looked back when the task was done, and De Ligt pouted in his sleep.

 

\------

 

“I have coffee and tea, and toast from a loaf of bread left in the freezer,” Blind explained without turning around when he heard footsteps behind him, “we can also grab some more stuff along the way or at the base.”

De Ligt had put on the clean clothes Blind left for him in the bathroom after a quick wash.

Blind was surprised when he turned around and saw how well his old t-shirt sat on De Ligt’s body, a little more snug, but hugging the toned outline of his shoulders and upper arm.

“Coffee and toast would be great, thanks.” 

De Ligt stood barely a foot away as Blind made him breakfast. The mini air currents caused by the host’s movements exuding the fresh smell of shampoo and shower gel. De Ligt couldn’t tell which body was the actual source, since they’d obviously used the same products.

He liked that, along with the general domesticity of the morning routine.

Blind handed him the coffee cup, leaning on the counter with one hand on his hip, “I called Edwin, by the way.” 

“What? Edwin? Just now?” De Ligt inquired, puzzled.

“Uh-huh, while you were still in dreamland.”

De Ligt couldn’t restrain cracking a stupid smile at Blind’s good-humored teasing, so he hastily hid his face behind the coffee cup.

“Why?”

“Expect folks to be doing interviews today, especially Edwin and Erik. You and I too, probably.”

“And?”

The toaster beeped timely.

“I told him to tell the interviewers,” Blind dropped the fresh, hot slices of toast onto an empty plate, “where he thinks you’d end up.”

De Ligt stared, a frown slowly forming between his brows.

“Butter or Nutella?”

“Um,” it took De Ligt a second to register Blind’s question, “Nutella.”

Blind plopped down the plastic bottle, “don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m being unreasonably and ridiculous. We both know, along with everybody else in the football world, that you’re not staying. I only reminded Edwin to play along if anyone from the press brought it up.”

De Ligt remained hushed, mechanically spreading the Nutella onto his toast and watching it melt into the uneven, grainy surface of the bread.

“It’s just,” Blind let out a breath, “so you don’t get any funny ideas.”

“Right…”

“Not saying you will, but, you know, just in case,” Blind quickly added.

De Ligt put everything back on the countertop and turned to face Blind squarely. Their gazes clashed like silent waves.

“I’ll miss Ajax,” he ruffled his hair, “God, I already do.”

Blind nodded, “I know.” 

He was the same way, nearly five years ago.

De Ligt shook his head.

His eyes were bright and determined.

“And I’ll miss you.”

Blind stood there, his lips slightly pursed. 

Specks of dust floated in the golden sunlight that lit up the kitchen.

There was half a tile of distance between them.

Then De Ligt opened his arms.

And Blind fell into them, squeezing De Ligt’s back as tightly as he could.

“I will too.”

 

 

 

\- Fin -


End file.
